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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24550105">Bound</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_5253/pseuds/Rosie_5253'>Rosie_5253</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Female Harry Potter, Soul Bond, Teacher-Student Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:48:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,524</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24550105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_5253/pseuds/Rosie_5253</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After mourning for his dead friend, Severus collects the one-year-old Holly Potter to bring her to safety. The trauma of the evening and the impact of the killing curse forges a permanent bond between Severus and Holly, marking each of their souls as kindred.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Severus Snape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I couldn't tell you my earliest memory of him. He was almost always there in my mind. Of course, I didn't know him until that night. But my entire childhood seemed to revolve around his visits. Now, I see why. And honestly, I felt foolish having never questioned why he was always around. I had my adoptive parents, technically he was of no relation to me or them. There was no reason for him to spend as much time as he did with a seemingly plain child. <br/>
<br/>
But then... I've never quite been ordinary, have I?<br/>
<br/>
I suppose the earliest memory I have of him was when he picked me up from daycare. It could be the earliest one at least. It was his first time, one of many, picking me up from the daycare facility in my neighborhood. My parents could not leave work and so they sent him. <br/>
<br/>
His dark looming figure stalking into the pastel and flowery daycare center is etched in my memory. He wore Muggle clothing, which did not differ much from his regular attire. Just black slacks and a black button-down shirt. <br/>
<br/>
The receptionist approached the Professor with fear in her eyes. It was not every day that a man with such an ominous aura came into the building. "Hello, sir. How might I be of service?" She asked, even as a four-year-old I could tell she was trying to sound confident. At the time, well, mainly as I grew up I never fully understood how people could be so uncomfortable around him. He always felt like home to me. <br/>
<br/>
"Yes, I am here for Holly Potter." He claimed and at that, two of the other daycare teachers approached him. <br/>
<br/>
A rather plump lady with a knack for discipline, spoke right up "you've not been here before, sir. Do you know her parents?" <br/>
<br/>
I watched his two fingers tap his leg in annoyance - something I have learned he does only in my company. "Her adoptive parents, Mr. and Mrs. Grenwich have requested that I pick up the child today as they are detained at work. I am authorized in her records." He snapped.<br/>
<br/>
At the time, I must have been impatient, waiting behind the swinging gate of the play area where children would wait for their parents because I yelled out for him "professor!" My tiny arms reached in the arm and I waited for him to stride over to me and pick me up. <br/>
<br/>
Again, the plump woman responded, "yes well. We'll just be having a look in our records if you please." The receptionist scuttled off to the wall of filing cabinets and searched for my file. <br/>
<br/>
"Professor!" I called again, still waving my arms in the air, trying to get him to come over. <br/>
<br/>
He looked at me, and glared, "patience, Potter."<br/>
Pouting, I lowered my arms and sat down. Obediently waiting for him to approach. <br/>
<br/>
The receptionist came back to the plump woman with a file and pointed at something which they were obviously not pleased with. "We'll need a valid ID, son." She ordered. <br/>
<br/>
Again, his fingers began to tap his leg in irritation. With smooth and graceful movements, he pulled a wallet out of his pocket and folded it over, showing the card to the woman. "May I relieve you of the Potter brat now? Or would you like to call her parents to confirm that I am not trying to steal their daughter?" He sneered at the women who merely gestured my way. <br/>
<br/>
"Professor!" I squealed as he approached me, reaching down over the gate and picking me up with ease. <br/>
<br/>
"Brat." He smirked and pulled down the back of my dress. <br/>
<br/>
"Mister -" The receptionist began, but I quickly interrupted her.<br/>
<br/>
I shook my head, curls flying, and said "nuh, uh. It's professor. Professor Severus Snape." <br/>
<br/>
-----</p><p><br/>
<br/>
I suppose I should have known that I was going to be in for a tumultuous first year when my parents and the Professor sat me down to discuss Hogwarts with me just before my eleventh birthday. They were transparent with my magical heritage throughout my adolescent years. I knew who "The Girl Who Lived" was and for his benefit, the Professor never once allowed that to go to my head. I knew the stories of Lord Voldemort, of the bravery of James Potter, of Lily Potter who died protecting me, I knew of the Death Eaters, and I knew I would attend Hogwarts come the September after my eleventh birthday. <br/>
<br/>
I didn't know that I would have to hide my "familiarity" with the Professor. I didn't know that the faded tattoo upon his left forearm was a mark that could haunt the bravest of witches and wizards. I didn't know that the dangers of my first year of life would be following me. <br/>
<br/>
But by the end of that conversation, I knew all of those things.<br/>
<br/>
Have you ever known something, but not truly known it? My youth, my ignorance, my naivety blinded me. Three things I wish I could have back. The confidence when I interacted with the Professor. How bold I was when I was a child. The sheer obliviousness to the oddity that was our "familiarity." The blind faith and trust of a child. It's funny, isn't it?<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
When the Hat called out the house of the brave, I had never felt so scared in my life. My stomach dropped and I forced myself to stand, refusing to turn back to receive the affirmation that I was needing. We weren't supposed to know each other, and therefore, I did not need his approval. So I sat down with my new house, forcing the urge to cry down as I felt the uncomfortable stress of failure. I needed to be in Slytherin. He was a Slytherin. I was supposed to be a Slytherin. To make him proud. To be able to be near him. So he wouldn't have to hate me in front of others. So he wouldn't hate me at all. <br/>
<br/>
<em>I am not alone. </em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I am not alone. </em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I am not alone. </em><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
When everyone had settled into bed for the night I quietly got up, toed on my black slippers, shrugged my cloak on, and hurried downstairs, hoping I wouldn't wake anyone. It was late, past midnight, the Common Room was empty and the older students were up in their dormitories, still being quite loud. The Fat Lady was rather perturbed that I was leaving the Gryffindor tower at such an hour, well after curfew on the first night. <br/>
<br/>
I found that I didn't care. <br/>
<br/>
The Professor had told me his password and where his sleeping quarters were before I came. I figured I could find the dungeon fairly easily considering it was just down from the Gryffindor tower. The hard part was not getting caught by ghosts, students, professors, or the shifting staircases. <br/>
<br/>
"Iago." I whispered at the portrait of Sir Barbarossa, grumpily he allowed me through, clearly not thrilled that a Gryffindor student was entering the Professor's quarters.<br/>
<br/>
Seeing the flicker of a flame, I rounded the corner and was met with the sight of the Professor lounging in a leather chair, book in lap, and a glass of scotch in hand. He looked up from his book and I was met with his unamused glare.  "And who gave you permission to be out of bed, Miss Potter?" His voice was steel. Cold, firm, unyielding. And yet, no other sound provided me with the comfort I found in that tone. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>I will not cry. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry." I blurted out, taking one step forward, not quite allowing myself to step foot in his lounge. </p><p>His slow graceful movements mesmerized me, taking hold of my body and keeping me captive. I watched as he lowered his glass to the side-table and carefully closed the large tome on his lap. "Apologies matter little when a choice was made knowing they would come." </p><p> "But this wasn't my decision! I didn't-!" I cried and took another step forward only to be cut off by the Professor holding his hand up to silence me. </p><p>"You did not choose to get out of bed, dawn your cloak and slippers, and sneak through the hallways? Tell me, Potter, what is your excuse? I know you gravitate toward danger but being compelled on your first night at Hogwarts is quite impressive, even for you." His snarky drawl caught me off guard, my eye-brows knitted together and I paused.</p><p>"What? No, obviously I chose to come here. Professor, I am not apologizing for coming here." I explained, shaking my head. "I wanted -" </p><p>"So you simply decided to blatantly break school rules? On your first night, Potter?" He hissed and scowled down his nose at me. He didn't understand. He was not listening to me. All I wanted was to make sure he did not hate me, and he was patronizing me. </p><p>I stomped my foot, an action I knew I would regret later, and shouted "I don't care about the rules, I care about not getting into Slytherin and you hating me!" A drum loudly beat inside my chest, something that usually happened when I raised my voice at him. It was never a good thing, nor did it end well when my temper got the best of me. A characteristic the Professor explained came from my birth-mother. </p><p>The heat of indignation spread throughout my body as I watched his infamous smirk creep across his face. Again, I wanted to stomp my feet but this time I refrained.  "A Potter in Slytherin, now that would be a disgrace." He sneered. Pressure formed in the crevices of my eyes as tears filled them. He didn't want me in his house. I should have known. "Did you really think you would be one of my Snakes?" </p><p>I sniffed and looked down, unwilling to let him see my tears. "I'm sorry, Professor. I wanted to be in Slytherin. I wanted to be with you." Crawling into a hole was beginning to sound quite appealing. Typically when I felt small, embarrassed, unwanted, the Professor was my medicine. He always made me feel warm. </p><p>But all I felt now from him was an unnatural coldness. </p><p>"You foolish little girl, you could never make it in Slytherin. Tell me, what are the traits of Slytherin?" He continued to sneer, ignoring my tears, my apology, my fear of disappointing him. </p><p> "A Slytherin is cunning, ambitious, and resourceful" I recited. I could be all of those things. I knew I could, especially for the Professor.</p><p>He stepped toward me and I felt one of his slender fingers curl underneath my chin, forcing my eyes to his. "You seem to be missing one paramount trait, brat." I shuddered and frowned. "A Slytherin would stop at nothing to get what they want. Tell me, girl, would you allow someone to suffer to get what you desire?" </p><p>An ache entered my chest. <em>No, I wouldn't.</em> And he knew that. He always knew that. I would never be able to put my goals before another's. Tears streamed down my face, he had known I wouldn't be in Slytherin and he let me continue to hope. "And you would? you would harm another person for your desires?" </p><p>The Professor's familiar smirk turned into a cold, firm stare. "If my goal was to protect you, I would gladly make those who stood in my way suffer." Shivers ghosted their way over my skin, making the hairs on my arms stand. "You could never be a Slytherin, not truly. You will thrive in Gryffindor, as much as I loathe to admit it. The connections you will make in the Lion's Den will shape the next years of your life in ways that you cannot understand. Trust the sorting hat, Potter." Gently, he plucked a stray hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear, his left forefinger still forcing me to hold his gaze. "I could never hate you for being what you are." He said softly. </p><p>The coldness that had frozen my body began to warm at his words. Once again, I shivered at the change of my temperature and let two more tears cascade down my cheeks. "A spoiled brat?" I sniffed and allowed a small smile to quirk the corner of my lip.</p><p>My joke was met with a smirk from the Professor, "don't forget incorrigible, danger magnet, and arrogant." I let out a short giggle and wiped away the tears. "Now, you are breaking several school rules. Off to bed, brat." Turning, I made my way to the portrait entrance, ready to take on the world with his words of encouragement. "Oh, and ten points from Gryffindor for breaking curfew without permission!"</p><p>I scowled but made no retort. No doubt he would be after me for my previous childish behavior when I was not so emotional. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, I enjoyed breakfast with Ron Weasley. Suddenly I no longer felt guilty about snagging an extra piece of bacon occasionally. My eating habits were positively healthy in comparison to the shoveling that occurred next to me. He was nice enough, very loquacious, but entertaining all the same. We had ended up sitting together on the train. </p><p>Professor McGonagall had just handed out our term schedules. All of the first year Gryffindor's were in the same classes, so that made it much less confusing. I had glanced over my schedule, noting that we would be in Doubles with Slytherin for much of the year. </p><p>"Oh, bloody hell. We have the bat first thing!" Small bits of egg escaped Ron's mouth as he voiced his distress. I found myself reviewing our schedules, trying to ascertain who "the bat" was. I scanned the time-table and saw our first hour - Potions, Doubles with Slytherin. "The bat," I concluded, was the Professor. I couldn't help but let a small giggle escape my lips. Bat indeed. "Wha?" Ron mumbled. </p><p>"It is quite rude to be referring to our professors in such a manner." Granger, the frizzy-haired, <em>Hogwarts: A History </em>quoting, Muggleborn witch who nearly fainted on her way to the Sorting Hat, contributed. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. </p><p>I took a bite of a muffin and chose to ignore both of them. While I knew the Professor would not appreciate my approval of his nickname, I also found it quite amusing. Besides, plenty of other students had to have worse nicknames for him - most people were terrified of him already, I couldn't imagine his students thinking he was a teddy-bear. </p><p>Continuing to look at our time-table, I noted that my schedule had Private Tutelage slots throughout the week. The Professor had come to an agreement with Headmaster Dumbledore regarding advanced spellwork. While I looked forward to learning new spells, of course they would be fascinating, I was mostly excited that I could know for certain that I would have time with my favorite wizard. Hermione peered over my shoulder, viewing my schedule. "Private lessons? How did you sign up for those?" </p><p>She was nosy. Not that I minded terribly, I was constantly told that I was too curious for my own good. I merely shrugged and offered "Headmaster Dumbledore assigned them to me." </p><p>The poor thing looked distraught. I could practically see her contemplating requesting private lessons from Dumbledore herself, but Ron chimed in "of course he did. Yer the bloody Girl-Who-Lived." I winced at the name. No child longed to be reminded of their parent's death, nor did they wish to relive watching the green light of the killing curse approaching them. However, Ron's contribution certainly shut down any longing Hermione had for private lessons. </p><p>I took a final bite of a banana and stood up, collecting my book-bag. "Are you ready for class? I don't want to be late." </p><p>Ron shook his head, "nah, I am going to eat some more. The foods almost as good as Mums." </p><p>"I'll join you!" Hermione volunteered. It seemed that she was the only Gryffindor that was looking forward to Potions class. Pavarti, Lavender, Seamus, Dean, and Neville all continued to eat with Ron. </p><p>We walked out of the Great Hall and started descending the many staircases that led to the dungeons. "The castle isn't quite accessible, is it?" Hermione mumbled as we trudged down the stairs. </p><p>"Well, why would it need to be? Nearly all physical ailments can be cured, or at least healed enough for stairs. All potions for pre-existing paralysis or birth defects are provided to new students upon arrival to ensure they can access all areas of the school." I proffered the explanation, nearly quoting Hermione's apparent favorite book. </p><p>She all-but gasped at my statement. "You've read <em>Hogwarts: A History?" </em> She exclaimed.</p><p><em>Did I just make a fatal error? </em>I continued down the staircases and simply nodded in affirmation. "A, er, family friend gifted me a copy for my birthday." </p><p>"Oh! I thought you grew up in the Muggle-world?" All the questions this girl asked. </p><p>Once again I nodded. "Ya, my adoptive parents are Muggleborns though. They attended Hogwarts as well. They thought staying away from the magical community would keep me from an enlarged ego and away from any danger." This was true, but we didn't need to go into the details of the Death Eater attacks and the sacrifices my family had to make to keep me safe. They gave up everything magical, their home, their jobs. They uprooted their lives so I could live a safe and relatively normal childhood. </p><p>Hermione considered my statement for a moment, all that we both heard for some time were our lungs struggling with the seemingly thousands of stairs we were suffering through. "I am not sure I could leave the magical world after knowing it all exists. I feel like I am finally where I am supposed to fit in." She whispered. </p><p><em>Supposed to fit in. </em>I shivered at her word choice. My parents sacrificed so much, gave up where they could truly be themselves. She was right that it was obviously extremely difficult, and I was very grateful for my parents' choice. <em>Supposed to fit in. </em>The poor thing had never known what it was to belong. She didn't have the Professor. Or parents that understood her. And it was not like any of the other first years got her either. "Well, it's a good thing you are just getting started. My parents said Hogwarts is still their favorite place, so I think we are in for an exciting year." She smiled at my statement and nodded. </p><p>We finally made it to the Potions classroom which was locked - we were about 10 minutes early, even the Slytherins weren't at the door yet. </p><p>"I've heard Professor Snape is very particular. I met a fourth year when I went to Diagon Alley. They said that he would expect us to know rudimentary potions-work prior to the first class, so I have already started studying. I must say, I find the subject quite fascinating. It must be awfully interesting to be able to experiment with such an assortment of ingredients and be able to help people. But to have everything be so precise without the Muggle means of assessing measurements is daunting. I can't wait to learn more!" The girl could talk all day about magical things if I let her. I couldn't tell if it was her excitement or if she would genuinely be this studious the rest of the year. </p><p>"Potions require precision. But, if you understand the nature of the ingredients you will have all the tools for creating and correcting potions that you need. It's just like cooking - if your gravy is too thin add corn starch. The more you know your ingredients the more problems you can address and new recipes you can make." I was paraphrasing Professor Snape, but she didn't need to know that. </p><p>A horde of Slytherin's bounded down the stairs to join us, quite noisily. Including one Mr. Draco Malfoy. "Potter!" He barked. "Making friends with the wrong sorts already? You don't need to be cavorting with the Mudbloods." The daddy's-boy smirk was plastered across his smug face. </p><p>I could feel Hermione stiffen next to me. </p><p>"Malfoy, I suggest you rethink your vocabulary if you wish to continue speaking." The threat escaped my lips before I realized it. "I know some people have a problem hitting girls, but I am not above fixing your pansy face." </p><p>His Slytherin cronies stepped forward to his sides. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. What were they going to do, beat up two girls outside a classroom? Just as he was about to respond we heard a loud <em>click </em>from the door. "Enter" It was the Professor. So dramatic. </p><p>I turned to grab the door and let Hermione enter the classroom. "Save me a seat, please!" I called to her. Draco tried to enter the classroom after her, but I wasn't going to let him go that easily. Nor was he finished with me. </p><p>"Growing up with filth obviously had a toll, Potter." He hissed as he tried to walk through the door I held open. With my freehand, I snatched part of his robe and yanked it toward me. He lost balance and slammed his face into the heavy door. </p><p>"Careful, Malfoy. That filth taught me how to take care of myself. Something your Daddy obviously forgot to ask his house-elves to teach you." I whispered back as Malfoy angrily rubbed his face. </p><p>As I entered the classroom, the Professor caught my eye. "15 points from Gryffindor for violence against another student, Potter." He drawled. </p><p>I chose to ignore him as I sat down next to Hermione. "You didn't have to do that. Violence isn't the answer." She growled, points were everything apparently. </p><p>"You may not care about insults to Muggleborns, but I was raised by Muggleborns and I am not going to let that selfish prick insult them, or you for that matter. I am not going to let them call you filth." The Professor had impressed this lesson into my heart. It was something he was quite passionate about given his history with my birth-mother. </p><p>The rest of the Gryffindors started to join the class. There were about 10 of us in total in the classroom. Gryffindor's took up one side of the room, Slytherin's the other. Professor Snape conveniently standing near the chalkboard in front of the Slytherin's. We were all silent. It was honestly impressive that just his presence commanded the classroom so completely. I was proud to be his friend in that moment.</p><p>The moment didn't last long though. I was about to learn the very painful lesson of how cruel Severus Snape could be toward Gryffindors. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>First class with Snape.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Potter, our new celebrity." His sultry voice filled the silent classroom. "It seems that you have already declared yourself above the rules, are you going for the most points lost by a first-year?" I forced myself to make eye-contact with the Professor but bit my tongue. We were not friends, so I could not address him the way I usually would. "Gryffindor, would you like me to give her the opportunity to earn those points back?" He drawled out, smirking at me without looking away. All my classmates nodded vigorously. Points were everything. "Very well. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” I blinked, drawing a blank. We had only reviewed first-year potions work before the school year. Wormwood infusions wouldn't be covered until at least third year. Hermione's hand had shot up immediately. Of course, she knew the answer. I stared into his dark eyes and hoped he had entered my mind. <em>I see why they call you 'the bat,' hovering over there searching for prey. </em>His smirk grew and I knew he had heard me. As he stepped down from his podium and gracefully tucked his hands into his pockets, he asked a second question "what is the difference between Monkswood and Wolfsbane?" Again, Hermione perked her arm right up. Once again, I didn't know the answer. If he had asked me about boil-cures I may have known the answer. "Pity." He sneered. I continued my silence, while he wasn't being pleasant - this behavior was not unfamiliar to me. "Where would you find a bezoar." </p><p>I couldn't help but smirk. Bezoars aren't mentioned in first-year curriculum. But, I had read his article on the effectiveness of Bezoars in the treatment of potion overdoses. "Why, in the stomach of a goat of course." I answered smugly, and couldn't help but turn to Malfoy and add "why don't we cut Malfoy up and see if I'm right?" </p><p>The Gryffindors coughed, trying to hide their snickers at my dig. I turned to the Professor and smiled innocently. If I had not known him so well I may have missed the mirth cross his face. "10 points from Gryffindor for impertinence." He hissed and turned his back to the class. </p><p>"We will begin with proper potions preparedness." The Professor announced. "I expect notes taken, there will be a test before I will allow anyone near a knife or my ingredients." </p><p>I slumped in my chair, no longer being grilled in front of the class. While I had lost more points, I was sure the other Gryffindor's appreciated my quip and would forgive me. I was also certain that the Professor would be voicing his disapproval this evening at our first private lesson. </p><p>I couldn't help but be distracted by the grace of the Professor. He moved around the classroom so comfortably, his robes billowing behind him. Every inch of him was covered in black material. His frame seemed to fade into the shadows at times, allowing the unnerving sound of a bodiless voice to permeate the classroom. I wondered if this was learned over his years teaching, or if this power that exuded from him was inherent. I had lost myself in my thoughts but Hermione was kind enough to shove a bony elbow into my ribcage to bring me back to earth. </p><p>He continued the class without embarrassing me in front of my classmates further. Had I not been prepared for this interaction, I certainly would have found myself back in his quarters panicking at how cold he was toward me in class. But, we had to remain distant. He was just one of my new professors. </p><p>The class ended with a short answer test, a practice for the future exam that we had to pass to continue the course. We were assured - or threatened - that we only had one chance to pass the exam. </p><p>We all filed out of the room and walked to Charms as a group. I was most excited about this class. My family did not allow me to learn charms at home, but I had watched them practice and use cool magic around the house and I couldn't wait to be able to do it myself. </p><p>The Gryffindor students were sharing my Potions class pop quiz with the other Gryffindor's we passed. By the time we made it to the Charms classroom, students were 'baa-ing' at Malfoy in the hallway. I couldn't say I was upset about that development, nor was I upset about his shiner growing on his face from the Potions room door. Again, something I was likely to hear about later from the Professor. </p><p>The rest of the day passed uneventfully, aside from the 'baa-ing' sounds it was a thoroughly boring afternoon. I couldn't wait to see the Professor though. We had been apart for several days before, but with the first-year orientation weekend taking up most of my time, and knowing that he was just down the hall I was itching to talk with him about my day. We had never been in such close proximity and I wanted to make sure we were making the most of it. </p><p>I found the portrait of Sir Barbarossa and whispered "Iago," letting myself into his quarters and waited for him in the lounge I had found him the other day. There was already a cup of tea just waiting for me and a book set out. <em>The Dark History of the Dark Arts.</em> Who better to instruct me on the dark arts than someone involved in the dark arts? Part of that made me uncomfortable, but the other part of me was intrigued. </p><p>"I hear you have made quite the impression with the other Houses?" I heard him say from the hallway. He approached and I watched him unclasp his robes, and slowly work on unbuttoning his tunic. I had once asked why he didn't just spell the tunic off - he said that certain tasks that were mindless allowed for meditation throughout his day. The clearing of the mind is paramount for a Legilimens he would explain. He deftly hung up his black tunic and made his way over to the loveseat I was sitting on. </p><p>I stood slightly and tucked a foot underneath myself before answering. "Yes, it seems that we all agree that Malfoy is more farm animal than holy Pureblood." I snickered. The Professor didn't comment as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing the faded mark on his left forearm. I reached over and touched the mark, I was drawn to it ever since I learned the true meaning of it. I ghosted my hand over the lines of the tattoo and leaned into his shoulder. "He called Hermione a mudblood before class." I whispered. Underneath my fingertips I felt his body stiffen, the veins of his arm poke out as he clenched his hands into a fist. </p><p>"Malfoy suffers from the ignorance passed on from his parents. Do not be too hasty in punishing him for the only facts he was raised with." The words were a whisper in my ear. A resigned and pained whisper that made me shiver. "You have the power to influence the minds of your peers, use that power wisely." </p><p>A sigh of resentment escaped my lips. "So I'm not supposed to get people to make farm noises at other students?" </p><p>He turned to me and laughed, a sound that made my heart light. "Perhaps not, brat. Now, tell me about your first day." </p><p>I listed off to him the useless pieces of information I had learned in my classes so far. The first week had zero practical lessons, and while Hermione was thrilled about the bookwork, I was not inclined to learn through reading. "Did any of your favorite dunderheads do anything noteworthy today?" I asked politely. </p><p>He had relaxed into the cushions and was fiddling with a stray quill. "No, it seems the highlight of my day was the prospect of finding a bezoar in Malfoy's stomach." I grinned and tugged at his arm closest to me, bringing it around my shoulders so I could nestle into his side with my book and tea. "You'll find this book alluring. I am tasking you with reading it so you can join me in the analysis of Riddle's plan. He will return, and I wish for us both to be ready for him." </p><p>Gone was the playful Professor, replaced with the Professor that had the weight of the world on his shoulders. The weight of my life on his shoulders. </p><p>"I don't want him to come back. I want to destroy him before he takes away anyone else." I whispered into his side.</p><p>He squeezed my shoulder in response. "We will do everything in our power to stop him. Take your studies seriously and stay focussed." </p><p>I nodded and took that as a sign to begin reading my assigned book. The Professor summoned papers to grade and diligently worked beside me. </p><p>Before we knew it, it was 9PM and time for me to retire to my own bed. I parted ways begrudgingly but allowed the Professor to glamour the book into something less forbidden before I left. </p><p>Tomorrow was a new day, starting with Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrel.  </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Quirrel's class.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quirrel’s class was boring. The boys in Gryffindor were quite excited about the prospect of a defense class, and honestly so was I. However, the stuttering professor had nothing on Professor Snape. I should have realized prior to the class that it would be a disappointing two-hour session. The classroom was intriguing, though. Skeletons of deceased creatures covered every bookshelf in the large room. Tiers of desks surrounded Professor Quirrel who did not need the help making him appear small. Posters were littered around the room, some aurors posing for cameras as they apprehended Death Eaters. Strands of garlic hung from the ceiling providing a less than appealing odor that caused more than one student to sneeze at the sudden aroma. </p><p>“S-s-sit down. Gath-th-ther ‘round, class.” Professor Quirrel stuttered from the center of the room. He held a large pointing stick in his wand arm, though I could see the imprint of a wand holster on his forearm. At the feast I had been so worried about my disappointing sorting ceremony I had not taken in the appearance of the other professors here at Hogwarts. Quirrel seemed to stay away from meals, or perhaps he was not dining when I was. Either way, I got my first look at him as I entered his class for the first time - turban and all. </p><p>Ron was muttering and pointing at the various moving posters around the room with Seamus and Dean. Neville was gripping his bookbag rather tightly, poor boy had been terrified about this class. Hermione was eager as ever, taking a seat in the front row and kindly saving me a seat. The other Gryffindor girls had taken to avoiding Hermione, so they sat in the back row. </p><p>I took a moment to take in the strange professor stuck in my spot as an uncomfortable feeling washed over my body, chills running up through my arms. Professor Quirrel turned his face to me, making eye contact and my scar burned so hot I had to press both hands to it and turn from the pale man. </p><p>“S-sit. Sit. Please. We have much much much to cover today.” He urged. </p><p>I suppressed the urge to leave the classroom and continued my way down the stairs to the seat next to Hermione. My scar ached in a way it had never done before, and I rubbed the skin raw by the end of the class. </p><p>“Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Hermione snapped, pulling my hand from my forehead. </p><p>I jerked my hand away and shrugged her concern off, stalking my way to Professor Snape’s office for our Private Tutelage session. </p><p>Slamming his door open I threw my bag to the ground and flopped into a seat, my hand still covering the scar on my forehead. Immediately, dark robes were fluttering in my peripherals and a cold hand was prying my hand away from head. “Holly, let me see.” The Professor urged and I reluctantly let him pull my hand away. His fingers ghosted over my scar and I whimpered slightly. “What happened?” </p><p>“I don’t know. I don’t know! I was just in DADA and it started burning. It just burns, Professor. It feels like my head is on fire.” I was sniffling at the end, turning my head into the Professor’s hand. He muttered something under his breath and a bottle flew into his hand. I watched as he uncorked it and gently rubbed the cream on my skin. Soothing coldness covered my scar. He held my hand and blew on my scar softly until I relaxed. “I was just getting to class, and when I saw Quirrel my scar just exploded. It was like that the whole class.”</p><p>The Professor eventually stood and leaned against the desk behind him, crossing his arms. He was debating what to say. I could see him deliberating, trying to decide just what explanation to give, how much information I show have. “Magic reacts to magic.” </p><p>I wanted to strangle him. Four words to explain away the panic I had for the last few hours. “My magic reacted to magic and burned my scar?” </p><p>The Professor had the gall to smirk. “Simply put.” He sneered. “But no. I believe that the traces of magic in your scar reacted to magic.”</p><p>We had discussed magical traces the night before. The Dark History of the Dark Arts stated that all magic left traces. Light, dark, neutral. It’s why technology misfired around magical villages no matter if it had been charmed or hexed. Magic left traces everywhere. </p><p>I frowned at the conclusion. “I have dark magic in me from the Dark Lord’s attack.” </p><p>The Professor reached forward and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You survived one of the darkest curses known to wizardkind. We don’t know what side-effects there are.”</p><p>I stood and began to pace, an annoying habit I had picked up from the Professor. “So I could just be a ticking time bomb? What if the magic is in my soul? Could the Killing Curse have imprinted on me? What if I cursed? And does that mean that the dark magic traces in me were reacting to light magic? I mean it reacted to someone who works against the dark arts, didn’t it? Am I just going to repel light magic the rest of my life?” The Professor began to chuckle at my rant. I pointed a finger at him “don’t laugh! I am a freak!” </p><p>At my pronouncement he stood and glowered at me. “You’ll not refer to yourself in such a manner again Holly Lily Potter.” </p><p>Tears were now streaking down my cheeks. “What is wrong with me? That night, it’s always going to follow me, isn’t it? I should’ve died that night. This is all just punishment for surviving.”</p><p>I watched as he pulled the second chair closer to the one I had been sitting in and pulled me down to sit with him. “You are a miracle, Holly. I don’t know what I would do without you. You are our saving grace.” He caressed my face and his eyes bored into mine. “There’s nothing wrong with you, you have been given a particular circumstance and I will be damned if anyone or anything will get the better of you.” </p><p>For such a cold man, he always filled me with such warmth. “Am I repelling light magic?” I asked again. The answer was necessary. I had to know if I was a monster or becoming one. </p><p>He smirked and caressed my cheek again. “No. Actually, I believe you encountered dark magic, and that caused the traces of dark magic in you to react.” I sniffled and wiped tears away. “You are still, Holly Potter. The pain in your scar is merely part of your circumstances, just like Granger’s know-it-all tendencies are, and Malfoy’s narcissism.” </p><p>“Why would there be dark magic at Hogwarts?” </p><p>I watched as his face darkened. “That is the question, is it not?”</p>
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